


Shield Maiden

by Calleva



Series: Haesten/Saerlaith [3]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 13:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: The third part of my Haesten/Saerlaith trilogy, following Hidden Treasure and Return of the Sea Wolf.Saerlaith, the Saxon wife of an Irish ealdorman, lives a quiet life in Coffe's Tree (Coventry) in the Kingdom of Mercia. Having persuaded Haesten, a Viking warlord, to spare the local villagers, she has tended his wounded men and learned to use a sword. Thinking she will never see him again, she has resumed her life as wife and mother. But a year later, a mysterious gift arrives and a summons to join Haesten once again. But what does he want from her? Her skills as a healer, a fighter, or a lover?NB: I tagged the violence box but there is very little of it and wouldn't expect anyone who has read Bernard Cornwell to be at all fazed by it.





	1. Chapter 1

There was that girl again. The boss had been on edge until she arrived. He'd first met her on a raid in Coffe's Tree. There he had learned of her healing skills so the next time we were near Coffe's Tree she had tended our wounded men. We thought she had some kind of hold over him but whatever it was, it was good magic. Many of us would gladly have claimed her, but he wouldn't let us near her. I'm not sure to this day if he could have said he claimed her himself; it was more the other way round, which, if you knew the boss, was strange. Perhaps it was due to her magic. She charmed him, yet I noticed that when he was near, she stayed close to him. It was a pity in a way that they were married to other people, but then they were both free spirits. 

We'd been fighting hard for days, surprised by a group of rival Danes, and we struggled to keep the little fort we'd taken earlier. Lord Haesten sent out for help but it was a long ride from Beamfleot in the south and in the meantime we just had to hunker down and lick our wounds. The rival Danes would melt away and then return to surprise us. How long could we go on? 

Morale was low.

\------

It arrived with no message although she thought she knew who had sent it. 

Saerlaith sat herself down as the package was long, unwieldy and rather heavy. Carefully she unwound the wrappings until there on her lap, lying within the strips of stained fabric was a modest sized longsword. Even though not very clean she could see that it was almost new. She smiled to herself as she ran a finger gently along the edge of the blade. The metal felt firm and cool to her touch. Compared to his own weapon, this was just a pig sticker, but it would do very well for her. She stood up and grasped the hilt, testing for balance and weight. Perfect. As she gently swung it, the weapon felt alive in her grasp, as if it had come to life and wanted to sing a song of blood. "I will call you Bloodsong," She muttered, "and hope you never do sing in my hand."

She didn't let herself think too much about the first person who would have owned this weapon. Was that his name at the top of the blade? Judging from the size of the sword he was probably a very young man. From the look of the hilt he had been a Northman, like Haesten himself, but a wealthy one as it was a fine piece of workmanship.

She remembered the last day in the camp when Haesten asked for her sword oath. Saerlaith had only just started to learn the skill. He had asked what she wanted in return for tending the sick and wounded and she had surprised him by asking to learn to use a sword. She constantly surprised him but he gladly agreed, obviously relieved that she had not asked for silver. She could read him like a book. So why send her the sword now, months after his promise? She thought she knew. A little tremor of something like fear came over her. He would be sending for her soon, and he would make good on her oath.

He needed her again.

\--------

 

She had just had time to get in some practice with the real thing rather than the wooden sword he had given her for training. She also managed to get a leather worker to make her a belt and scabbard. Saerlaith thought resignedly how he would have deliberately not sent a sheath to hold the gift. He gave with one hand but took away with the other. Even the ruby necklace had come after he'd robbed her household of all its valuables.

Yet... she couldn't help herself, could she?

His summons, when it came, was indeed prompt.

Fearghal was still in bed with the influenza he'd had since Christmas. It hadn't been difficult to explain that she wanted to visit her cousin in the South. Her elderly husband would be well cared for by his manservant and her two maids. Besides, he was not well enough to need her company. As for Niall, he had been weaned last summer and had a nurse to tend to him. He was fond of Gytha and might not miss his mother too much. When Haesten needed her before it had not been for very long. Less than a week, and she would be on her way home again.

A wave of fear rose in her chest - for months she had trained almost daily with one of their household men but obviously she'd never been in an actual battle. Would he really ask that of her? He knew she had a young child, the boy he called Njal in the Norse language, whose blue eyes so resembled his own.


	2. Chapter 2

"I fear for you, lady." Gytha's eyes looked into Saerlaith's with more than concern.  
"I'll be fine. Haesten won't let me come to any harm, and I have this." She indicated the sword at her hip.  
"You'll be alone with all those wild men."  
"And I will be fine, many of them know me now and he will protect me from harm. I'll be back very soon. Kiss Niall for me."

The maid looked at the sword with something like dread and stepped back as Saerlaith nudged her horse forward. The men were waiting for her outside the enclosed hall. Haesten's men, but impossible to tell whether Norse or Saxon. A practised eye would spot the narrow hilted swords but there was little else to distinguish them. Their lord had avoided sending beard beads and shaved scalps. Suddenly, seeing the men and recognising a couple from last time, Saerlaith's heart leapt with happiness, she was needed again. It may have been folly, but she felt joyful all the same. Turning on her horse, she waved confidently to Gytha and beamed at her. The maid half-heartedly waved back.

 

It was all going to be all right, she told herself as they rode silently to the little fort. She had her saddle roll of salves, bandages and the healing balms she made herself. With Fearghal unwell for most of the winter, Saerlaith had organised a fully stocked cupboard of medications. She smiled to herself; Haesten called her his little witch. He had told her it was a standard expression of love among Danes and did not mean a hag with a cauldron. Would he simply want her to tend his wounded men and satisfy his own desires, as he had the last time they had met? That time she had not been so pliant, annoyed that he had taken for granted that she would be his lover again. Her resistance had worn away though, as it always would with him. The attraction was too strong. As they neared his camp she found herself longing for him. Surely he had summoned her back to his bed, and her sword would simply be an ornament at her waist?

As if he sensed her anxiety, the young fighter who rode alongside her said, "How are your sword skills, lady?"  
Saerlaith happily recognised him as Halfdan, the young Northman who had trained with her. They had got along well, so well in fact that Haesten had been jealous. It was interesting that he had included him in the group that fetched her from her home. Perhaps it was a test of loyalty.  
"I've practised almost daily," she told him. "I enjoy it, it makes me fit and I like to feel it would help me if we were attacked at home." She told him. "How are things at the camp?"  
He shrugged, "Jarl Haesten is holding out. We survive."  
"I assume he wants me for my healing skills again and not my sword however." Halfdan gave a small smile. "Maybe," he replied.

Conversation was short lived as the sound of a great noise reached them from a way off. "There is fighting, Lady. We must be careful," Halfdan cautioned. Saerlaith moved her horse forward so she could assess what was going on. It seemed that the Danes had returned and were attacking the fort again. There was fierce fighting, although at the moment the gates hadn't been breached and the defenders were hailing down missiles and arrows, and being fired at from below. Haesten was somewhere in there and so were other people she had come to know.  
"We need to create a distraction, attack them from behind, which they won't expect, and then Haesten's men can come out of the fort and finish them off."  
The men in her party looked uncomfortable. "We had orders to keep you safe, lady."  
"Well I will be, I'll wait behind the trees here while you charge them. It will give Haesten time to get out and fight."  
"There are many more of them than us, lady."  
"You have the benefit of surprise. And you won't be too few for long. He'll have to come out." Saerlaith wasn't sure she was right. Haesten had a streak of self-preservation which might mean he would let them all die rather than risk any harm to himself, but she didn't think so in this case. He would know she was with them.

The attackers were mostly on foot. Saerlaith's party rode forward and joined battle. Unable to help herself, Saerlaith rode carefully through the trees, moving closer to the fort until she was alongside the fighting. She had practised every day but nothing had prepared her for the noise and sheer animal force of battle. Swords rained down on splintered shields and metal helmets folded in by the power of axe blows. Silently, she dismounted from her horse and looked for Halfdan. He was fighting frantically, on the back foot, being threatened by a hulk twice his weight. Desperately he swung his sword through the air, but did not make contact. He was tiring, clearly. Instinctively, she reached for her sword hilt and drew, creeping forward like a cat. And suddenly everything seemed to slow down and the roaring of fighting men became soft, like the distant waves of the sea. The brute was aiming to finish Halfdan when Saerlaith's blade caught him under the arm, severing muscle and tendon. He jerked with pain and surprise and lunged away from her. Whipping out her sword point she thrust it at the gap just above his boots, stabbing through the knee. He bellowed and before he could think further, Halfdan had rallied and pushed his sword through the eyehole of the big man's helmet. A spurt of blood and grey matter put the man out of the fight permanently. Wiping blood from his face, Halfdan nodded to her in brief thanks.

Saerlaith reeled back, looking frantically for more danger. The sound was almost deafening now, horses screamed in agony alongside dying and injured men and still the battle continued. Where was Haesten? But the adrenaline was flowing freely and she and Halfdan challenged another fighter who was getting the better of one of their men. Saerlaith forgot to be afraid as instinct joined her training. She may not be as powerful as these men, but she had speed and agility and knew how to use a blade. The tall bony northman with wild hair focused his attention on her. As he ran forward he gave a terrible cry, showing rows of broken teeth smeared with blood. Saerlaith's little blade sliced through the air and caught him on the cheek as she ducked under his arm and spun round like a dancer, maintaining her balance. He had underestimated her. The ugly man turned to face her and she caught a blast of his breath. He was close enough for her to detect the lines on his face, grooves carved from months of rowing under a hot sun. The black soot around his eyes had run down along the grooves. He was staring as if mad. Dimly Saerlaith had a moment to wonder if he was a berserker, in which case she was in serious trouble. She feinted to the left, watching his arm follow suit but catching only air, when a blow from behind him momentarily stunned him. Halfdan! It was all she needed and in a moment her sword had pierced the wild man's throat, severing the artery. The jet of lifeblood caught her even as she swerved backwards. The tall man fell to the ground. 

Panting now, Saerlaith looked wildly around her; but danger was no longer so present. Men had come from the fort to relieve the little band. The attacking Danes, recognising a fight to the death, began to lose their stomach for battle and were forming for an organised, and defended, retreat. Haesten's men pushed forward, hungry for victory.

"Quick!" Halfdan caught her elbow and motioned to her to get inside the fortress. He was limping and had clearly been hurt but was mindful of his duty to his sworn lord. For a moment she hesitated, feeling the urge to rejoin the fighting, but knew this to be foolish. She hurried through the side gate and was safely inside.


	3. Chapter 3

How could she have been ready to fight on? As she wiped and sheathed her sword, she felt a twinge in her wrist. It hurt - the shock from her sword thrusts had been taken by her wrist. Sighing with tiredness and tension she squeezed the source of the pain and tested the rest of herself. She seemed to be mostly all right. There was a deal of activity now as fighters were returning to the little stronghold, armed with booty, swords and armour.

Where was Haesten? Was he even concerned that she could have been killed just now? "Is Lord Haesten even here?" she asked aloud, to no one in particular. A fighter passing by nodded and said tersely, "Come with me."

He led her up some steps and through a guard room until Saerlaith was standing on the high walkway looking down on the remnants of the battle. She could see her horse still in the sparse woodland. There he was, his hands resting on the wooden wall. The twists and braids of his unkempt blond hair were moving gently in the wind. He looked across at her and gave a little frown.

It was hardly the reception that she expected. Then she realised what she must look like. "I'm fine, really." she lifted her hands in gesture. With two strides he had reached her and taken her hands in his. "You are here." He said simply, "Come with me. Now."

He is going to get me washed and changed, thought Saerlaith, how considerate he is. Really Haesten was not all bad, was he? She felt a lurch of desire. After all that death, her senses were heightened and a strange, dark instinct took her, an urge to do something very different from killing.

She followed him down the steps and across the courtyard into the hall. He led her through a curtain into a small side room which he presumably kept for his own use. She noticed a low bed covered in fleeces and a table and chair. She took a deep breath to explain that the attack had been her idea and that his men had tried to protect her. Instead she found herself enveloped in a great bear hug. Grasping her tightly, he pressed his cheek against hers and lifted her slowly so that her feet were just above the floor and then he spun her round. She found herself laughing wildly with sheer exuberance and joy of being alive. Then he put her down and faced her, his blue eyes deep with what looked like displeasure. He was ready for battle as there were those two short stripes across the edge of his eye. What was wrong?  
"I watched it all. You foolish, silly girl." He hissed, "You were left in safety and you disobeyed your escort and joined the fighting. You might have been killed! Stupid girl!"  
She glared back at him, "Well thank you too! You sent me a sword and summoned me. What the hell was I supposed to do, sit wringing my hands while your men - my friends - risked their lives? And why didn't you come out with the others?"  
He shook his head. Why were they always doomed to argue, she thought? That fighting had left her with a strange desire to make love... He was so stubborn.... Then he reached out and caught her in his arms again. Wordlessly he bent to kiss her, his mouth greedy, betraying his mood. She returned the kiss with equal force. After a very long time he broke off and pressed his cheek against hers; his beard felt soft and reassuring. It all came back to her, the feel, the smell of him. Why did she feel so much at home in his arms?  
"You had no armour, no helmet, no shield! What were you thinking - that I would expect you to join battle with hardened warriors armed with only that... pig sticker...? Saerlaith you cannot be a warrior if you don't use your head."  
"I have killed for you and you shout at me!" Her eyes blazed back with the residue of the adrenaline still in her blood. He said nothing but cupped her face in one big hand. He seemed fascinated by her face and scrutinised it for a moment. He rubbed thoughtfully at some dried blood with his thumb. " _Min lille heks_ , only you could look so enticing in mud and blood." he rumbled and she noticed how his eyes were no longer fierce but dark with desire. It had been over a year since she had seen him and suddenly all her own anger disappeared and she walked over to the bed. She pulled her soiled gown over her head noticing a rip that wasn't there before. Then he was upon her, pulling at her underdress and dropping it to the floor along with his armour, followed by the rest of his clothing. She wrapped her arms around him and they fell onto the bed.

What a relief to be with him again! How joyously familiar he was she thought as she moved sinuously against him, revelling in the feel of his skin on hers. There would be time to take things slowly, to relish each caress, but that was not now. Half an hour ago she was pushing a weapon into the flesh of an unknown Northman, now she was entwined with her own Danish fighter and his warrior's hands were tracing the contours of her body. At least he wasn't arguing with her. He gave a low moan as his hand reached between her legs. Oh God but it felt so good! She pressed briefly against him, all the better to feel his strength and weight on her, and moaned noisily as they joined. It must have been obvious to anyone outside what was going on in that little chamber, but neither Haesten or Saerlaith cared as they surrendered to that sweet, longed for, delight.


	4. Chapter 4

For a moment she wondered where she was. Waking up in this strange bed, focusing on the unfamiliar walls, she turned over to reassure herself that she wasn't dreaming. No, she wasn't, because there was her sea wolf lying beside her. He looked very peaceful and his sleeping face seemed guileless. Perhaps he had once always looked like this, before he ringed his eyes in black and hung an axe from his belt. Carefully she moved closer to him, the better to share his warmth. For these brief moments she could pretend he was good and honest - and that he belonged to her. She smiled dreamily and looked across at him again. His watchful eyes were on her face. He was awake, then. Wordlessly he reached out and pulled her closer. As his lips met hers, she closed her eyes and surrendered to him. 

It would be tempting to think that life with him would always be like this, days of activity, nights of lovemaking, waking in the bliss of a shared bed.... She had to be careful, he would never belong to anyone; she must keep a guard on her heart, or risk having it broken. It was enough for now that he preferred her. She told herself that she needed to keep a reserve so that he would never feel he completely knew her and that the mystery would keep him interested. Lying beside him after that delicious, sleepy, lovemaking, she briefly drifted into a light sleep, woken only by sounds from outside. The world had woken and was getting up. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The air on her flesh wasn't as warm as it had been under the thick fleeces and she sighed wistfully, thinking of the chores of the day ahead, and the need to find clean clothes. Suddenly she found herself being pulled backwards and once more lying among the covers. He gave her his catlike smile and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. Their eyes met and he slowly bent down to kiss the tip of her nose, then her chin, neck and that little hollow at the base of her neck. Clearly, her Northman wasn't ready to meet the day just yet. She put an arm around him and snuggled against him. The day could wait.

Silently, she watched him dressing and then he spoke softly. "Not getting up?"  
"I've nothing to wear." she told him. He looked at her soiled gown, still on the floor in a tangled mess and thought for a moment. "Wait here," and he had left the chamber. Saerlaith lay back smiling, he had just spoken the first words of the day. 

Until then, words were not necessary. 

He came back shortly carrying some garments over one arm and holding a platter in the other hand.  
"You might be hungry, I don't think you have eaten since you arrived."  
Saerlaith thought for a moment and realised she was indeed hungry. She sat up and reached for the plate. He watched her as she ate. She fascinated him, this Saxon woman who was so unselfconscious, sitting there, dark hair falling over pale skin, so enticing even now. When out in the world she behaved with quiet dignity but here in private with only him, she was natural and unashamed, as she should be. He thought briefly of Bruna, who held the bedclothes up around her bony body as if protecting herself from him. 

How long would Saerlaith be with him? A few days at the most he reckoned, so he must make the most of it. His little witch had enchanted him; he even liked the way she licked her fingers. No, he must keep a watch on his feelings, not give too much away either, it would keep her wanting more. He watched her dress in the clean garments he had brought. She faced him, smiling. He nodded approvingly, even in those men's clothes she still looked every inch a woman. She reached back with a ribbon to tie her hair when he stopped her. "Leave it," he said. Very well, she would go with her hair unbraided, like a young unmarried woman.

"So why exactly did you bring me here?"  
They were standing together on the high walkway, looking out onto the scrubland and forest below. The sun was weak behind the clouds. He shifted and blew on his hands, "I needed to see you again. I wanted to know how you were."  
"So nothing to do with my oath to you then?"  
"Not really. Do you think I would risk your life in battle?"  
"Niall would be pleased to know that. He's well, thank you for asking."  
He shot her a look, his eyes flint gray in the light, "I'm glad. Your husband must be proud of him." It was a question.  
"Yes he is." She answered, "I brought salves and oils for your wounded. You must let me look at them."  
"Thank you. We have need of your skills."  
"And in payment you will teach me the bow."  
He gave a soft grunt of amusement. "That can be arranged."  
"And I will need armour and wrist guards... please." It was more of a requirement than a request.  
" _Kaereste_ , you will not need them."  
"So you didn't like my fighting..... yet I am not hurt am I? Weren't you at least a bit surprised that I could handle the little sword?"  
"From the moment I met you I knew you would be a Valkyrie in battle. You were magnificent. You're an orphan - I'm guessing your parents were Oðinn and Erða."  
"If you say so." She smiled to herself; best to let him live with the mystery. Her father had been a minor Mercian thegn. 

Just then he put a strong arm around her and drew her close to his side. He sighed slightly - was that a nervous expression trying to break across his face? "Just one thing.... the men might not understand your wearing those things. Perhaps it is best for you to wait until your robe is dry."  
"But you have wounded men, they need me as soon as possible. Why would they be so childish to mind my wearing dry clothing while my own are still wet?"  
"In our culture...." he sighed and shot her a hard-eyed look, "it is considered deeply disgraceful to wear the clothing of the other sex. My men might think you were.... strange. That you had male instincts."  
Saerlaith snorted, "So what if I were strange, as you put it? I can still heal them, but it's fine if they would rather suffer until my gown is dry. Meanwhile I think you and I should go for a ride on our horses, I could do with some clean air."

Saerlaith felt disappointed, she liked the comfort of the loose leggings and they were very warm. She would have liked to retain them for a while longer than necessary. The men must surely all know by now that she was Haesten's lover?


	5. Chapter 5

The clouds had now cleared and the sun's warmth was coming through. Saerlaith, enjoying the freedom of her unusual clothing, rode cheerfully alongside Haesten who seemed deep in thought. It was so good to be out with just him, where they could relax and be themselves. Perhaps he might escort her to a fair one day, or somewhere they could enjoy good food and music? Somewhere she wouldn't be recognised, and where he would pay for everything, she thought with relish. Well, she could dream. Dreams couldn't harm anyone, although they made one unhappily aware of how the real world fell short of the ideal.

They galloped the horses for a while, Saerlaith enjoying the fresh air on her face, and then, laughing, they dismounted by a river bank and removed the contents of their saddle rolls. A rug, food, wine. 

How good it was to sit like this, undisturbed and just enjoying each other's company! Saerlaith made a point of handing Haesten a platter on which she'd placed some food, and he seemed to appreciate the courtesy. They ate contentedly together. "I should be asking you to give me a practice session with the sword, but I've eaten too much." she told him lazily.  
"Not on a full stomach," he told her, "and anyway there are other things we could be practising..."  
She gave a low laugh as he pulled her to the ground. "But we've just eaten! and is it wise to undress in the open? Suppose we are disturbed?"  
"We're quite alone." he assured her, tugging impatiently at the waistband of her leggings. Saerlaith smiled to herself, this was like the very first time in the garden, when she had looked at the sky while he took her even higher. "Be quick then" she muttered, hoping he was right. It took so little for him to make her forget everything else but him, his hands, his mouth, his strong arms.. and that part of him that brought her so much pleasure. He seemed to feel the same way about her, murmuring his delight in her body before passion silenced him.

It was difficult to imagine that this man, so eager for her, was the same one who had pleasured her twice that morning before actually speaking to her.

Rifling through the objects in his private quarters, Saerlaith had come across a stash of books which had almost certainly come from a monastery. She took one and put it secretly in the bag on her saddle.  
"So are you going to take out that ... thing that opens and shuts?" he said at length. She was lying in the crook of his arm, drowsing in the warm sun. So his sharp eyes had not missed it.  
"I thought I'd read to you," she said, not giving him the option to refuse, "you need some more culture."  
He sighed as one who had conceded a fight but really she could see he was interested. Not being able to read he wouldn't want to make a point of it. Saerlaith got partially dressed, and opened the small volume. She found the verse she had noted earlier,  
"He has no lack of joy,  
nor of horses, nor treasures, nor the pleasures of mead,  
any of the noblest riches upon earth,  
if he has you, O prince's daughter."

"Remember how the first time we met you said that all the treasures of the earth would count as nothing if you had me?" she reminded him. He moved uncomfortably but smiled back at her, "It was true, you are worth much more, even if you aren't a prince's daughter -"  
"Pig!" she threw a crust of dry bread at him. He may be called Jarl, and have the whole camp bowing to him, but if he wanted to invade this part of Mercia, he'd better be nice....  
"You are the daughter of Oðinn, which is far more important, _kaereste_. Another gave you garnets, I gave you a ruby."  
This was true. He had given her the most beautiful jewel she'd ever seen.  
"Very often we two vowed  
that we would not be parted except by death alone,  
nothing else."

He half closed his eyes as she read the love poems to him. Saxons were very sentimental sometimes, though these poems suited his current mood. The sound of her voice relaxed him and he had the idea that she herself was the sum of all the world's treasures, and that without her he would always be missing something precious. Years before his sworn lord had called another woman that, hadn't he? And she was a king's daughter, but a pallid, quiet thing compared to his little witch. 

He had been telling himself that it was best that Saerlaith belonged to someone else, which conveniently excused him from any responsibility towards her or her son, a child almost certainly his. But was this really true? Why was he always running from things? Was he in danger of losing something of greater value than silver and gold? She was the most accomplished woman he'd ever met - even more than that king's daughter. He thought of the little hut where she made her salves and her flower water. Bruna had wanted more of the rosewater. 

He remembered how his 'little witch' had tended his wounded men, and how her skills had given them hope. They had all recovered. And now here she was reading to him, those black marks in the old pages coming to life as she gave them voice. No doubt she had all the other arts of gently born women as well as being a vixen in bed who kept up with his demands and made some of her own.... but as well as that she was good with a sword. He would have to get her the further training she wanted, he thought she'd be deadly with a bow, this little Saxon Valkyrie. 

They took a shortcut back through the forest. Saerlaith could not remember a time when she had been more happy. Haesten had actually listened to her reading! She had thought he would humour her but that the verses might embarrass him. Well perhaps under all that armour there was a real heart after all. But did it beat for her or was she just someone to pass the time with? She knew he wasn't in love with his wife, but that wasn't so unusual. Her husband didn't love her either. Would there ever come a time when people only married the one they loved? And if they did, would anyone do any work at all? She was smiling at the absurd idea when from the corner of her eye she noticed some movement further away, among the undergrowth. A dark shape that wasn't a deer or a wild boar - could that be a flash of leather armour? "Sweeting," she muttered to her companion, "over there..."  
His eyes darted round and he saw it at once. "Spies!" and he was off in pursuit. His reaction was fast and he swiftly caught up with the stranger, jumped from his horse and had him in a stranglehold. The other man called out in a language Saerlaith didn't know. Norse, then; they must have found one of the enemy Danes. She instinctively rode across to take a look at what her lover had caught.  
"No, go away!" Haesten called out to her. Saerlaith peered at him and saw the terrified Dane with Haesten's short sword at his throat.  
"I think he's injured!" she raised her voice to be heard over the other man's pleading.  
"That's why I have to do this." Haesten responded grimly.  
"No! don't do it!" she jumped from her horse and hurried towards them, "I can help him. You can't just kill him in cold blood."  
Haesten looked at her as if that is exactly what he could do and she was hindering him. Saerlaith thought for a moment and then said "Look, if we get him back to the fort, I can tend him; I'm sure he won't mind my clothes, and we can then find out as much as we can from him." She tilted the man's face up and looked into his eyes. He was sweating and seemed in pain. From his pallor he had lost a lot of blood. He had probably been in the previous days' fight and got separated from his companions. He must have been unconscious for hours. Haesten sighed noisily. "Women!" he muttered irritably as he hauled the injured man onto Saerlaith's horse. Haesten then helped her onto his horse and jumped up behind her. Slowly they began the short journey home, Haesten holding the reins of his mount and leading the other horse. Saerlaith wondered if having his arms around her and being pressed against him might introduce some more love play but he was clearly not in a good enough mood. She nestled back into him and closed her eyes so that all she could feel was his breathing and the gentle motion of the horse.


	6. Chapter 6

His name was Thorvald and he wasn't very old. He was taken at once to the side chamber where the most severely wounded were lying, and set on an old fleece. Saerlaith followed him in and checked him over. Since her last visit to Haesten's camp, she had studied more about the art of healing. She didn't get all her knowledge from books. For instance, it seemed logical to keep the sick, and their injuries, clean. She called for a freshly-washed sheet to be placed under the young Dane as the fleece had blood as well as dirt stains. Carefully, she cleaned the dirt from his wounds using her lavender water. "You have half the forest in there," she told him. He smiled back with white lips although he didn't understand much English. At least he didn't seem averse to her leggings. She could have instructed one of the other fighters to tend him, a few of them had rudimentary doctoring skills, but she had a feeling that this one was important and she must tend him herself. So she washed him and applied her oils to his wounds and bandaged them. The deepest cut, from which he'd lost a great deal of blood, she sutured. He was a brave boy and didn't complain. 

In fact he watched her face thoughtfully. Saerlaith was fully aware of this and caught his eyes a couple of times. Was it her unbound hair - she should really tie it back - or did she simply remind him of someone? The look in his face suggested something else... surprise and, perhaps, awe. If it wasn't so unlikely she'd have thought he was afraid of her, but he had been assured by Haesten himself that he would be treated well. Must be the leggings she decided. What a lot of softies these 'hard' men were!

She was improvising a pillow for Thorvald when Haesten suddenly appeared. He could move like a cat and she was only aware of him when he spoke from behind her. "Will he live, little witch?" He used the endearment in his native tongue, _min lille heks_.  
"I hope so, he needs to drink plenty, so he can make more blood. I've told this to the man in charge. He must eat only when he's ready, a little well cooked stew with plenty of meat. He should recover as long as he doesn't get a fever." She stood up and faced him. He grinned at her, clearly amused. This was her project, he seemed to say, and as long as the young fighter behaved himself, all would be well.

She left with Haesten, "Why does he seem afraid of me?" she mused.  
"Perhaps smitten by your beauty. Your unbound hair would suggest you are single." He smiled and then added "I suggest you braid it." He was jealous and possessive again. It was something she liked about him, it showed that he cared.  
"Meanwhile, I'd like a first lesson with a bow. Please, Lord." The last said with a small lift of the eyebrow.

In fact Saerlaith had her first session with bow and arrow along with a training bout with her wooden sword which she had brought with her. Haesten had all his men train regularly when they weren't actually fighting. He had learned that Uhtred Ragnarson did this and he had a war band to be feared. 

After a late meal of stew, a Northman favourite, Saerlaith tied her hair back and went again to check on Thorvald. This time she had a look at the other injured men. To her surprise none of them seemed troubled by her appearance and all were willing to let her examine and bandage their wounds. One of them was in a very bad way and lay there, his right hand clasping the hilt of his sword, a sign that he didn't expect to recover, but the others might recover with more care. Before leaving she spoke to the fighter in charge of the sick. It was important, she stressed, that the men be kept clean and washed. She mentioned adequate liquids and meat. "And when you get back to Beamfleot, try a little sea bathing." He nodded seriously and replied "Lady it will be done. We thank you for your healing and good magic."

Saerlaith smiled to herself as she left; good magic indeed, when all she used was a mixture of basic herbal lore, a little reading and plenty of common sense. 

Later that evening, some of the other men solemnly came to her asking that she look at their wounds. These were lighter and most were healing nicely. She was amused because many of the fighters seemed to be looking for sympathy, whether they were fresh-faced youths or hardened warriors. A friendly word, a little cleaning, a dab of salve (mostly not necessary) and a warning to keep it clean. The leggings did not seem to worry them at all. Funny that, she thought, because Haesten was always a good judge of his men and knew them well. They were convinced that she was all woman, she supposed, because of her arrangement with Haesten. It would take only one person to walk past his chamber, hear the sounds and then the word would spread everywhere. The boss has got his woman back, nice work.

\---------

"My gown is almost dry but I think I might wear the leggings for a little longer. I find them so comfortable and in this draughty place they keep my legs warm." Saerlaith pulled off all her clothes apart from the light linen undershirt and got into bed.  
"Take that off!"  
" I feel the cold."  
"You won't be cold, I promise."  
She hesitated; it was warmer with two people but she hated the cold. "I will if you warm me up first," she suggested. Wordlessly he pulled her towards him and kissed her, gently at first but with rising passion. She felt a hand snaking up her body beneath the undershirt. He cupped her breast and caressed it gently. "Mmmn" she agreed. In response he dropped a line of kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck. Saerlaith squirmed with pleasure.  
"Warm now?"  
She made an inarticulate sound and let him remove the shirt for her. All she needed, she thought with growing pleasure, was a pile of thick fleeces and a naked Haesten between them. She was perfectly warm.

Afterwards, she nestled against him "I wish you wouldn't go.." his voice was soft in the dark. It was the first time he'd admitted he needed her.  
"You'll find plenty of women to keep you warm, my little cold feet won't be missed." She pressed them against him gently.  
"They will be, along with the rest of you. I need you here, the men need you too."  
"Well I can't just run out on my family, sweeting, you know that. We must savour our memories."  
"How can I when even my bedsheets smell like you?  
"I'll come when you call for me, if I can. You have my witch's promise." She ran her hand down his side, stopping to savour the velvet skin of his flank.  
"I don't want to wait any more, I'm tired..... Take me to some place where there's music and there's laughter, and you."  
"I should like that too" she leaned across and gave an experimental nip on the top of his arm. The muscle beneath it was full and firm; it was a fighter's arm, powerful and well-defined. His skin smelled so good. She rolled him onto his back and slid her hand down his torso, savouring his response as she glided lower.

Music, and laughter. Good company, good wine, and him.

Maybe one day.


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever he had said last night in bed, she had better not take it too much to heart. He was so changeable. She moved in the bed and realised she was the only one in it. Warriors rise early, perhaps he was reverting to his old ways? She must have drifted off again because she was awoken by several objects landing on her. Puzzled she raised her head.

Haesten was standing over her. She looked across the bed.  
"As you requested, lady. Your armour. I hope it fits."

She had worn it last time. It would fit.  
"My spies tell me that the enemy band is likely to attack soon. I want you to be prepared for it."  
"Best to keep Thorvald under watch then. He mustn't be able to help them."  
"Oh he won't, I'll make sure of that.." Haesten gave a vulpine smirk. Saerlaith understood. They would probably hang him in full view of the attacking group.

But what good would it do other than exact a rather spiteful and insignificant revenge? It was time to check on her patients.

One of them had died in the night and his body had already been taken outside to join the bodies of those killed in the fighting. The rest of the invalids seemed likely to survive. Thorvald too looked much better. He had regained some of his colour although he was still weak. He had taken some stew and drunk plenty of weak ale. Saerlaith looked concernedly at him. He still had the stitches which wouldn't be ready to come out for some days yet.

Haesten had no time to speak to her, he was hurrying about, checking all the defences, giving orders and instructing his men how he wanted them to fight. She knew she was expected to fire arrows from the walkway, keeping low to avoid being hit in turn. No one really needed her right now so she was free to make her own plans. With her heart in her mouth she set about preparing for the attack in her own way. She would need another set of clothes, and plenty of salve. 

With a grim face she went back to the makeshift infirmary and told Thorvald to get up. The other men looked at her expressionlessly, as they must have heard the rumours of an expected attack. No one thought that the young warrior would survive it. He followed her resignedly, still with that appearance of awe he showed in her presence. She ushered him into the chamber she shared with Haesten and told him to get dressed quickly. His face went pale again and he looked dumbly at the clothing and then at her. "Shhh," she gestured urgently to the clothing again and pointed to the helmet and the old leather armour that had recently been worn by one of his company. He looked at her with widening eyes. "Yes, yes, now hurry!". This time he complied and was soon dressed and booted. Saerlaith helped him into the jerkin and tied it so it fit snugly. It would help to stabilise his biggest wound and make it easier for him to move. Then they went through the curtain and she was leading one of Haesten's own men through the side gate at the rear of the fort. There he found a horse waiting for him. Saerlaith helped him onto it and pushed a pot of her salve and a skin of weak ale into his hand. "Now go!" she urged, "leave this place, rest and heal - and live!"

He did not speak English but he understood her meaning and spurred the horse away.  
"Who was that?" a guard spoke to her as she watched Thorvald recede into the distance. The fort was built on a plain of cleared land so approaching enemies could be spotted. "Lord Haesten has sent out another spy to check on the position of the enemy Danes."

He looked at her for a minute, then said "Good idea!" but his expression was less enthusiastic. He was looking at her clothing - Haesten had dressed his woman as a man and she was now obeying his orders. Women were for humping and maybe tending the wounded, but in his view they weren't fighters. Saerlaith could feel his confusion and disapproval. "Take it up with the boss." She said briskly, walking away as if she had other orders to carry out. All Thorvald had to do was find his own war band's camp. He wouldn't be doing any fighting for a while.

Ever since they'd come across that young Dane, Saerlaith had felt he should be spared. She was by nature compassionate, but her strength of feeling surprised even her. She put it down to all the killing that went on. Why couldn't they all live together in peace?

She sighed and climbed the stairs to the upper walkway where she gathered a bow and some arrows. She sat down with her back to the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. She suddenly felt weary and afraid. Perhaps letting that sick boy go was a kindness too far. It would get her into trouble - she could handle that - but also might cause Haesten to blame some of his men. She hoped no one would get punished for what she'd done.

 

Waiting seemed endless. Where were the spies? The sun was growing paler now and it was not as warm. She pulled her cloak around her. Would the enemy really delay? What had they planned - a night attack? Haesten ordered the lamps to be lit. The great beacons over the main gate shone defiantly in the twilight. Men stamped impatiently and some began to shout "Come on then cowards! Come and see what you'll get!"

Haesten sent out another spy.

Meanwhile the waiting continued. Saerlaith, nervous about being in combat again, even from a distance, was beginning to wish they could just get it over with. She thought of Niall and Gytha and the home she had made lovely and suddenly longed to be back in Coffe's Tree, where nothing much ever happened....

It was a relief to see Haesten as he appeared at the top of the steps, his familiar shape reassuring her that he would at least have some idea about what was going on. He stood watching the distance for a while. Then he turned to the opposite wall and watched the horizon from there. He shook his head and turned away. Saerlaith caught his eye; he motioned for her to join him. At last! He would have fresh news and new orders for her.

She followed him down to their chamber. He turned to face her, eyes cold and pale. "When I sent out another spy I was told you had sent out a spy of your own saying I had ordered it. You know that was a lie." He looked steadily at her, waiting.  
"Um, yes, well, _kaereste_ , I had an idea...."  
"And that boy we brought in yesterday is missing. I have a feeling the two are connected."

Saerlaith sighed. This was something she wouldn't be able to put right by a suggestion of bed. "You would have killed him in front of his companions; it was cruel and not necessary. He isn't well enough to fight, he has a side full of stitches. Yes I let him go, but he may well not survive."

Haesten was silent for a few moments, then he threw back his head and laughed. Saerlaith wasn't sure if he was genuinely amused or trying to embarrass her. " _Min lille heks_ , what will I do with you?"  
She smiled back at him as if she had a very good idea. He pulled her towards him roughly and raked her dark hair with his fingers. She watched his face as the pupils in his eyes dilated, making them look almost black. Perhaps she could put it right, after all...

The attack never came.


	8. Chapter 8

We always felt there was something unusual about Haesten's Saxon wench. She had a way with her, whether she was tending the sick or learning to fire arrows. Although she didn't follow the old ways, she seemed to have a mysterious power of her own. The boss used to call her his little witch. I know it's a way of speaking to a lover but we began to wonder if there was more to it. I was lying with the other injured men when they brought in that enemy Dane. He was in a very bad way and we thought the boss should have finished him off, sent him to the great feast hall. Instead he let his lady treat him as she was treating us. 

I liked the touch of her hands, gentle but firm. She had special ointments which she'd made herself. I don't know what spells she used, but they were good ones. Thorvald thought so too. We told him she was Haesten's witch who healed with her oils and her spells. That was perhaps why the boss dressed her like a boy, so the gods would think she was a male and send her the strength and wisdom of a man. She even carried a sword at her hip. Halfdan, who had seen it, said it was an Ulfberht, the most prized of swords. Weland had heard the boss call her a Valkyrie and we began to think there was some truth in it. She had killed a man in battle and wounded another. Only a shield maiden could do that.

Thorvald was afraid of her although she was kind and gentle. He confessed there was something else that troubled him. It had been she who had seen him hiding in the forest and she who had spared him. If she was able to see through trees and other objects there would be no hiding from her. He feared that Lord Haesten had got a witch with such power that no one would be able to overcome him in battle.

We watched as the lady Saerlaith led him away from his sickbed. We supposed Jarl Haesten was planning to kill him. He had been a nice lad and so young, his muscles still soft on him. Then we heard that he had got away. There was talk that the Saxon witch had arranged it. If so, it showed how clever she was. Thorvald must have gone straight back to his camp and warned the men not to attack, because the witch would always know where they were. As a healer she had great powers, so what would her curses be like?

I can believe that is what he said. It's what we were all thinking.

Olaf died but the rest of us survived. Later we laid a big funeral pyre for our slain companions and watched as the flames rose into the air taking them to Valhalla. Those were sombre days, but we each thanked the gods for having sent Haesten such a woman whose reputation had driven away the enemy with so little cost.

The following day the Lady Saerlaith left the fort with an escort of armed men. I don't think that was really necessary as no one wished to harm her. She had such powerful magic, and despite being a Saxon, she had become special to all the Danes who knew her. 

Lord Haesten watched from above the gates as she left. His face was stiff and we could tell his sorrow by the way he seemed to sigh. Then she was gone from sight and he rejoined us in the hall. 

"Will you send for her again?" Halfdan asked.   
He shook his head, "I don't know." He paused to look at the crumpled object in his hand, it looked like a shred of clothing that had torn on a nail. He sighed and tucked it inside his tunic. It was only later that I realised that it was not a broken thing. 

It was a length of ribbon.


End file.
